Little Soul
by Gin-kyo
Summary: Lord Death the Kid experiences his greatest tragedy in an event that would later become known as the 'Reno Incident' and no one can quell the echoing screams that are trapped within his soul... His faithful Weapons will try. KidLiz


Dedication: To my beautiful, most excellent friends on Tumblr, dA, FF and elsewhere who make me smile more than they know. To all those in the small, but glorious KidLiz community/fandom. To my precious Eevee, for all of the reasons, seriously, all of them.

Disclaimer: Soul Eater belongs to Atsushi Ohkubo, but I like to keep a little mental library of emphatic, personal head-canons.

Notes: This was jointly read via live share screen, beta read and edited by Eeveebeth Fejvu. She was involved with the creation of this fanfiction from the very begining by providing me with the irrevocable spark of inspiration, continuous encouragement along the way, and unbridled enthusiasm for the idea. Thank you so much, Eevee! I do strongly believe that I've grown as a writer, in great part, because of you. ^_^ This story contains a variation of the more usually accepted Soul Eater canon. I used this story to test out - what I think - is an interesting view of Reapers/shinigami but it's not necessarily my personally held head-canon.

* * *

**Little Soul**

By Gin kyo

* * *

Fiery shots burst from the muzzles of the twin Death Eagles, bleeding the cold desert sky with sudden heat.

The guns rattled in Lord Death the Kid's hands, lending him their immense power. The red fiend that Kid had hunted down was struck with crippling bullets. One well-placed shot ravaged a nasty hole straight through its back. The ensuing barrage was quick and efficient, Kid's skill honed by many years of practice. The bullets were white hot with Reaper and Scythes combined power, calibrated to the perfect gauge for maximum damage, alive with wavelengths that were the bane of madness. The huge, bloated kishin egg howled and writhed on a patch of dilapidated concrete on the margin of a deserted highway as shots poured into it. Thick black blood, like tar, oozed over the road and met with the encroaching sand.

_Kill it as quickly as possible_, the Death Room chief of Intelligence had told him.

_It is an extremely dangerous egg, ready to hatch. It is a Stage Four. Contained area of influence but very elusive and very difficult to sight. Do not hold back. You know what will happen if that thing escapes your divine execution. A Stage Five would spell catastrophic disaster for the west coast; untold levels of insanity, a Red Sky. Reno, Nevada; you have the coordinates. Oh, and good hunting to you, my Lord. _

Kid turned up his nose at the stench of the creature's sad corpse, riddled with massive, smoking gunshot wounds, though he couldn't help feeling a sense of relief flood through him and a certain satisfaction in his work. _Father will be proud,_ he thought. _The City will be proud._ It was, after all, his first official hunt as Lord Death himself.

A chill breeze cleared away the smoke and revealed the bursting of the kishin egg's blackened, skeletal shadows. A fat, putrid red soul levitated in the nest of its owner's remains. Kid's eyes narrowed. He searched the mass with his highly sensitive soul-vision. Was that…?

Liz and Patty leapt from his hands to return to their human forms a few paces behind him.

A small, faintly glowing blue orb – the soul of a young girl – he perceived astutely, suddenly burst from the Kishin's twisted, shadowy remains. Kid frowned. He had not realized that the monster was still holding onto hostage prey.

Acting purely on muscle memory, he raised his right arm and formed the hand sign for _Konso_, the soul storing technique. The light from a nearby light pole glinted softly off the tiny silver skull that adorned his middle finger. He automatically prepared the depths of his body and soul to receive her. His lips silently formed a customary prayer.

_Death welcomes you, little soul. Rest easy now. _

All his training kicked in perfectly on cue. He felt like a puppet guided by the invisible, ancient strings of Reaper instinct. But his heart froze and his right arm quivered when the soul didn't immediately come to him. Every soul yearned for the afterlife that he promised. No soul could refuse Death. And yet, the space he made for her inside himself remained empty; he felt it keenly, like a hole punched through his chest. A cold gush of dread filled him in the wake of realization. The sense of something _missing,_ of something _wrong,_ licked at his insides.

He watched as the pale blue soul began to flicker wildly, like a candle flame held to a windstorm. It struggled, it writhed, it desperately held on to the thin wick of existence. Barely audible over the maddening static crackle of the Soul Collapse, he could hear a tiny human voice.

It was screaming.

"No…" he breathed. "No no no, Father, _please_ _not this_."

It cried out… calling for him, pleading for his mercy.

He knew that Liz and Patty couldn't take notice of the sound. They stood close together, exchanging worried glances. But he heard it. Any reaper could have heard it. The voice was growing louder. The cries entered him straight through the chest and he could feel it. There was pain. Begging and breaking. He hadn't known such intense pain was possible. He could feel his own soul screaming back.

The young soul was failing. It was falling apart, unraveling in ribbons. Still, it clung desperately to his call to rest, his invitation, his embrace—Death's eternal embrace—though it was too weak to answer.

The ribbons of the little soul faded slowly, layer by layer until only the white core clung to existence. It glowed bright in agony, like the intense burning-beauty before the death of a star. The screaming grew hoarse.

Then nothing. Collapse. She was extinguished forever, her very existence snuffed out.

In the space where the soul once levitated there was only a residual bluish glow, a slowly settling phantasmal dust.

"…Kid?" Patty's small voice finally broke the deadening silence. "That soul…what happened to it? It just _poof_, disappeared! Was it bad?"

"No, it wasn't bad," Liz answered gently in Kid's stead. "That was definitely a human soul. Kid, what's going on?"

He could hear the sound of Patty's boots pounding the concrete when he didn't respond.

His arm barred her attempt at an embrace. "Kid? Kid?"

"Get back," he ordered. His hand was still painfully frozen in the position of Soul Recovery. His joints cracked as he tried to break the sign, loosen the fingers that had seized up from the unfulfilled technique.

"Liz. Eat the Kishin's soul."

Liz just looked back and forth at her partners and at the now generous amount of space between them. She blinked rapidly. "Kid, it's not my turn."

"NOW!" he barked. He didn't recognize the sound he made as his own voice. It was the death cry of a wounded animal.

Kid dropped to his knees. In the calm of night, he could hear the pelting of course sand as desert wind stirred the dunes. He thought it sounded vaguely like rain, though it was hard to recall the sound in a place like this. He could hear the low hum of the distant steady traffic on parallel highways. If he put his ear to the solid ground he would be able to hear the sounds for miles...

But nothing could mask the screams, now tauntingly-soft echoes in his head. His eyes grew hot. His heart was like a hurricane inside his chest. He fisted a hand into his jacket, gripped himself below the heart until he felt dampness warm his fingertips. _Compose yourself, Kid._

"Kid, are you hurt?" Patty called out timidly. It was a tone of voice she rarely used.

He ignored her. His eyes shot up and burned into Liz. His voice was shaking as he struggled bitterly with his order. "Finish the job. H-hurry, before…before it gets…cold."

Tears rolled silently down her cheeks as she picked up the hideous red soul by its rippling tail. It unsettled the air around it with defiant pulsing. She swiped her tongue over her dry lips and did what she was told. She devoured the soul in one forceful gulp.

Kid allowed himself the faintest of sighs once he sensed the energy of the red soul dissipate within Liz. Then guilt wracked him anew but he managed to stand.

"Girls, change back...We're going home now."

They obeyed him without question. Quick, eager to please, they flew into his hands, silver pistols once more. He gripped them tightly. He felt a thin trail burn hotly down his cheek, thankful that they could not see his face.

"I've done something unforgivable."

* * *

Kid flew Beelzebub just a few feet above the desert sands, kicking up plumes of dust behind him.

His weapon partners were foreign objects in his hands. They were heavy like lead; his wrists burned with their weight, his fingers ached. The tread of the pistol grips were slick with sweat from his palms. Liz and Patty were rendered mere weapons in dormancy, locked in their forms with triggers jammed, vibrations muted, and wavelengths lifeless. Kid imagined this was how it felt to carry that cruel collection of metal parts that ordinary humans used to wound and kill each other. There was not even a brief gleam of their pleasant faces on the surface of the metallic barrels. He was alone.

At the faintest nudge, rattle, or hum for attention he tightened his hold on the grips, protective and vice-like. They tried many times to come awake, but he silenced them with the deafening pulse of his defensive soul.

He blocked off their shared soul connection to spare them from futile efforts for soul resonance. He knew he wouldn't be able to endure even a second of their dual, pleading voices as a dull, useless reverberation inside his skull. He wouldn't be able to handle the persistent knocking on his isolated soul. He would remain untouchable...for as long as needed.

Coarse grains of sand stung his face. Thank Father the girls were safe in their pistol forms; safe from the elements, from the turmoil of his mind and his soul. Even the worst of desert sandstorms would merely leave them with a new polish. His fingers ached with their weight; his knuckles were blasted red and raw from the abrasive storm.

His hands shook with grief. He hoped he wasn't gripping them too hard. Could they feel strain under too much pressure? Was Patty on the right? Liz on the left? For a second he thought he might descend into madness. The pistols were identical in every way; only their unique souls distinguished them… and he had block those out.

He replayed the events of the mission over and over again in his head again from start to finish, from target sighted to the vanishing of the tortured soul. Why did this have to happen? Why couldn't he see? He had simply obliterated the monster in his path. He'd been such a fool.

He didn't know whether it was his hands that were stained with blood or his eyes. He was soaked to the bone with sin. He felt the soul's absence in this world and the next like a deep wound in his side.

Then he looked down to the silent guns trembling in his deadened hands. With a blocked connection, they wouldn't be able to hear anything he thought or said out loud. He counted it as a small mercy.

He looked up to the distance straight ahead, past the edge of the mountain range and to the barren plane where Death City rose up in tiers, a citadel in the sand. It was a great crown of stone and concrete cast in the amber light of dawn.

Kid panicked. A terrified whine rose in his throat and the sense of belonging once firmly lodged within him turned into a flighty animal. Death City, his beautiful fortress home. Why should he even be going back home! The barren wastes of self-imposed exile would be better suited to a wretched failure like him.

He could see it all transpire right before his eyes, the future he deserved like a mirage in the wavering distance. A small, weary figure, swathed tightly in tattered black robes, staggers up the crest of a shifting sand dune. The only exposure of pale skin comes from a gap in the fabric for his gold eyes to see and bare hands to claw at the harsh landscape. The power of the desert waves are set out before him to survey. But the ground sinks beneath his feet and he tumbles down the slope to meet the base of the next dune in the scorching sea. It is an aimless trek through a lonely hell.

Kid blinked rapidly to clear his eyes of the vision and the abrasive wind-born grains of sand. He was close now. Death City was a looming giant. He drew his knees close to himself, streamlined his narrow body, and climbed in altitude, aiming for high above the city spires. He soared at the steepest angle possible, higher and higher into the sky, but his heart was plummeting to the center of the earth. No matter where he went, he could never abandon his responsibilities… For the first time in his life, the impressive, staggering silhouette of the city struck fear into his heart. He cried out in his loudest voice. It was a pained howl that took every last shred of his strength, but it didn't travel far. The sound swirled around him with the hissing desert winds. His black and white hair was tossed by the updraft. His bangs danced above his forehead, his three white bands of Sanzu thrown into disorder. Gritty sand entered his throat and choked him.

Coughing, he cradled the weapon forms of Liz and Patty to his chest, feeling the heat of the sun-scorched metal barrels through his jacket. There was no vibrant thrumming. He was deaf to their kind voices. The physical warmth at his chest was no substitute for the soothing warmth of their souls' uplifting caress... He is an island away from them. He barricaded his soul from theirs. His finger joints burned and stabbing pains shot through the long inner bones of his hands. The pistol in his right hand shook so violently it threatened to spring free from his hold.

"Shhh," he chided, gripping ever tighter.

The winds had calmed and he was finally able to level out.

"Liz, Patty," he began hoarsely, finally settling his eyes downward, back to the walls of Death City. "No punishment exists for what I've done. Not even a ghost exists to haunt me. I was always afraid of this. I've failed. I can't…I can't be trusted to guarantee the safety of human souls. Let me at least protect you. Let me spare you from this storm."

The only comfort he took was in the knowledge that they could not hear his muffled words. The flight down to the balcony landing of Gallows Manor was silent.

* * *

Liz clutched the edge of one of the manor's many two-toned, contemporary rugs, panting heavily, gasping for fresh air. She was so happy to have been released from Kid's grasp, and to feel the solid ground beneath her actual body, she could have kissed the cool marble tiles. Patty sat crossed-legged on the rug a few feet away from her, staring vacantly at the far wall in wide-eyed horror. Kid closed the balcony double doors and put on the latch.

When Liz tried to rise, she found that her leg muscles were numb, slack, and her whole body was tingling unpleasantly as if waking up from a week of sleep. She pulled off her stuffy boots. She held out her arms for balance while flexing her toes within her socks against the edge of the rug trying to remember how to gain traction with the floor. She staggered once, and then regained her bearings before spinning on Kid. "Do you have any idea what it's like to be in weapon form without any resonance structure? It's so dark! It's claustrophobic! I was freaking out!"

"That was really fucked up," Patty said in her most ominous voice, scowling at him now.

Kid's sharply tailored suit was worn and weather-beaten. The once rich black surface was faded, almost beige in the places of highest impact, like at his knees and chest. He was covered in sand. The sweat from his brow turned the blasted sand to a partial mask of grime. His brow knitted into a frown of concentration over steely gold eyes. He was working on unbuttoned his blazer with reddened hands

His expression softened for a fleeting moment. He paused in sliding off his blazer to give them a repentant sideways glance.

"You'll have to apologize for my absence at the mission debriefing. I have research that takes precedence. Tell everyone who is present at the Death Room what you have witnessed. It will be enough. Tell them that I promise to submit a thorough written report once my research is complete."

Kid hung his wrinkled, tired blazer on the center gold-leafed hook of the coat rack panel on the wall. The shielding of his blazer had left his dress shirt a pristine white underneath. Only the edge of his sleeve cuffs and a v-shaped cutout that extended from his collar to the bottom of his chest were stained a desert hue. The poor enamel reaper neck pin had its three circular hollows crusted with grit. Kid went immediately for a few old tombs on the tall bookshelf built into the corner, with the sofa and pair of lamps normally designated for guest use.

Liz felt her frustration flare uncontrollably. "You just got home! You haven't even had a second to breathe. Since when is research _that_ important?"

"Don't want to show your face or something?" Patty asked challengingly, though the desperate concern on her face was plain to see.

Kid's hand froze in mid-page-turn and his head shot up. He flinched visibly. His stance wavered. It seemed that the mere mention of seclusion awoke a sudden dizzying exhaustion. He didn't say a word as he collected the books that he wanted under his arm and headed in the direction of his study.

Liz silently chastised Patty with a swift look then slowly let her eyes return to Kid. "Now is not the time to turn into Mr. Workaholic. Now is the time to rest."

She reached to grip the fabric of his sleeve as he passed by. He yanked away from her, weary eyes suddenly wide with fear. Liz immediately withdrew. "Kid?"

"Don't touch me," he said after a carefully measured breath. "Just call the Death Room. They'll send back-up if you don't get in touch soon."

"I couldn't touch you if I tried. You don't need to cover up whatever state your wavelength is in, okay? Don't shut down. That's what Patty and I are here for. We want to help you."

"Please, tell Father…tell him that there has been a… casualty. Tell him that I have lost a soul. He'll understand what you mean. Thank you for obeying my orders. I know they've been obstinate."

Kid strode briskly out of the room Liz could hear the sound of his footsteps carry all the way down the hall. Liz looked to her sister. "Come on, Patty. I'll meet you downstairs at the mirror."

* * *

Liz drew the number of Death's Door in the fog of the great mirror in the hallway vanity.

A familiar fellow sprung up at once.

"Hello, Lord Death," Liz said.

"Oh hoho! Really, my dear, you can just call me Death now. Short, sweet, and to the point. Not to mention, everyone keeps telling me that I need to be more politically correct. Where's Kiddo?"

"Studying actually. He doesn't want to come downstairs," Patty supplied.

"The mission was a success," Liz began hesitantly. She exhaled and opened her mouth to continue on with debriefing, but faltered when her resolve for protocol suddenly fled. Recollections of the hunt in Reno were swirling around in her head like a jumbled deck of cards and she tried awkwardly to take a deep breath and start at the beginning. She found she couldn't even bring herself to discuss the mission details with the tight hot coil of worry in the pit of her stomach. She took a few preemptive deep breaths, then sighed in defeat. "But… something's really wrong with Kid."

"He doesn't feel good," Patty interjected, nodding in steadfast agreement with her sister. "We really need to call in a sick day."

Death turned his head in his characteristically intrigued fashion. "A sick day, you say? Goodness, you must tell me what happened. I mean, I can certainly arrange that for you, but whatever is the matter? Is he giving you a great deal of trouble? Replacing the roof tiles? Or is it one of his headaches again? I told him that a headache can be a sign that he is growing into a man but he—"

"Sir." Liz raised her voice to get his attention. "It's more serious than that."

Death turned his head again before he composed himself with a light cough into his giant, fisted hand and leaned in closer to the mirror. "Alright. I'm all ears, girls."

"Kid… he wanted us to let you know—"Liz squeezed her eyes shut. "He lost a soul."

When she opened one eye to gauge his reaction, Liz thought maybe a lagging in the connection between mirrors had caused a delay in the picture, for Death looked like a perfectly still, soundless image. Even the clouds drifting in the back ground of the Death Room seemed to take pause.

Liz had always been disturbed by Death's silence. His bouncing form and large gestures and eccentric, jovial voice broadcast the existence of his vibrant life force, his humanity within the strange, jagged nonhuman form. But when he was still and silent, practically looming over the mirror, he was unbearably unknowable. His mask, with its familiar shape and attractive geometry, was the trademark of Death City. It was a symbol, but it was no face. Fixed upon his head, it was merely a facade to the tremendous shadowy depths of his soul. The Reaper's essence could scantly be gleaned from the trinity of blank circles.

He must be thinking, Liz decided. He was utterly silent and self-possessed as he digested the gravity of what she had said.

Liz spoke up to dispel the silence that was beginning to settle uncomfortably around them. "It was on the closed highway outside of Reno, about two hours ago. A human soul popped out of the Kishin that Kid had just killed and then went out like a light. We were alone when it happened. Now Kid won't speak to us unless it's an order."

"He won't resonate with us," Patty added in a sad voice. "He's too tired. I think he needs to rest." Patty tapped her fingers against the center of her chest as if gesturing to somewhere invisible deep inside.

Finally, Death moved again. He leaned back from the mirror a bit, regarding both of them for a moment as his once-proud shoulders resigned themselves to a slump. When he spoke, his voice was different. It was deeper than usual, somber and older somehow. "His first day as Death didn't go so well then, I see."

"Can _you_ sense Kid right now? Will he be okay?" Liz asked.

"You should help Kid out since you're Papa Death and all!" Patty chimed in. "Maybe if you tried soul resonance with him it would be sort of comforting and Kid can be happy again."

"The bond between our souls doesn't work like that, I'm afraid." Death shook his head. "I may be slowly weaning Kid off of my soul…but we will maintain a connection until the very end. Kiddo and I…we are the Reaper, one and the same. Every day, more of my power flows into him, like sand falling to the bottom chamber of an hourglass. When he receives his complete strength, I will disappear. Resonance…doesn't apply to us. But that's not something in the curriculum of our esteemed school." Death tapped the prongs of his mask thoughtfully. "That's not to say that our own personal wavelengths always match up. He's always been the rebellious type."

"Can you sense him?" Liz asked, growing desperate. "Patty and I haven't even been able to make out his soul since…since _it _happened. Our weapon states were totally black."

Death gently pat the side of the mirror frame. The picture wobbled a bit and wide ripples swam across the glass. It seemed to Liz that he was trying to suggest a fatherly gesture of comfort. "I'm sorry to hear that. Don't fret too much though, my dears. A connection between souls, once formed, can never truly be severed. Kid is just in a very, very faraway state; he is shielding himself…even from me." Death paused to inspect the room around him with slow, wistful turns of his head. "Yes, he has made a hard shell around his soul, I suspect. I cannot sense Kid, but then again, I'm no longer able to whenever he's too far off."

With his head angled away from the mirror, Liz felt - not for the first time - the curious sensation that he might be looking at them out of the corner of his eye. Or perhaps it was her own paranoia that Death's gaze was… omniscient. He paused, then turned his head up to the false sky on the ceiling, his eyes movement ever elusive. "I cannot sense him," he said again. "When your soul diminishes, your perception is reigned in and things start to get fuzzy. The binding of my soul's contract with Death City is closing in around me. Kid is out of reach…but perhaps it is for the best."

"Sir," Liz began, trying not to let her sinking heart show in the tone of her voice. "What is your soul's diameter at now?"

He perked up and faced them. "Hmm. Oh, fifteen meters, I think. Probably." Death answered after a thoughtful pause.

"But wasn't it _seventeen _meters just a few weeks ago?"

He nodded. "That sounds about right. Give or take a half a meter."

"…You can't even leave the Death Room anymore, can you?"

He shook his head. "No, I don't think so, but I don't care to test it. It's like bumping into an invisible wall, you see. Hurts."

"Sir!" Liz cried.

"Don't fret," Death said once more, slowly and this time with a touch of his old chipper self returning. "I'm quite happy to be here, I assure you. This room and I go way back; first room in the whole academy, you know! Do not mourn for me. It feels rather good sometimes actually, like losing weight. Kid is the one on the other end with the growing pains. Keep your thoughts with him."

Death's 'weight loss' caused Patty to chuckle half-heartedly. "Papa Death, why just thoughts? Kid can't be out of reach, not when he needs us!"

He sighed and every last drop of colorful, quirky energy drained from his voice. "Kid is doing the right thing. It is his job to protect you, his partners—"He regarded each of the girls with a purposeful nod of his head. "—from the most internal of reaper affairs. And it is his innate duty to accept the consequences of… losing a soul."

"He's trying to protect us?" Patty asked with a frown.

"Yes…"he said absently. "Ah, but here now… give me one moment please."

Death looked around the room to take account of every Death Room staff member and weapon. He cleared his throat very loudly and made a booming announcement. "Leave us for a moment. I want to talk in private." All of them filed out into the hall. Their timely fashion was rather impressive.

He turned back to Liz and Patty and then his dark eyes were penetrating, soul-boring. "Yes, that is Kid's main concern, I'm guessing, and you're right about something very important, Patty. He may very well need to rest. He'll need all the rest he can get before what is about to come. Very soon he will understand that."

Liz cringed, as if a searing liquid medicine had just slid over her tongue and snaked down her throat. There was no holding back her dread now. She was terrified. "What the hell does he have to protect us from?"

"From himself, of course," Death replied shortly.

"Why the hell does he _need_ to?"

"Surely you expected it. Ah, well, let me explain. As the new embodiment of Order and Balance in the world, Kid will face judgment for his actions and pay recompense for the lost soul. The face of the earth may be changing, but our reaper blood is ruled by traditions as old as time."

Death's voice was stern, but his strong silhouette was wilting. He sighed; he seemed to be sighing a lot lately. "My son…" he murmured quietly to himself. "Knowing Kid, I imagine he will gladly seek out the punishment."

Liz paled. She felt a stabbing pain shoot straight into her heart. She squeezed the bottom of her blouse to try and stave off the sudden hurt. Still, she dared to pursue more of the bitter truth. She opened her mouth and thought that maybe it would creak with the movement. "…What judgment?" she asked numbly.

"The judgment handed down from The Tribunal," he answered. "It's only fair that you should know."

"Tribunal…uh. Are you going to summon judges to Death City? When?" Patty asked. "I want to testify on Kid's behalf!" She then announced seriously.

Death hummed wryly. The sound was almost frightening, the type that could make your bones twitch. "No no… That would be a much simpler arrangement, a court of law.

"The Tribunal will come to him. But you will not be able to see them with your eyes." Death raised his large pointer finger to indicate the brow of his smooth skull mask. "It will spring forth from inside him, from deep inside. The Tribunal will wake up from its long dormancy. Judgment will come from his own soul. He bars you from resonance because it is something he must face alone. Deep in meditation, he will face the Tribunal of our many fathers past. They will decide his punishment."

"But what if it wasn't even his fault!" Liz practically screamed. "What _if_? I'm sure he's already tortured himself enough. And if he didn't even do anything wrong? What if the soul was just…sick?"

"That doesn't matter," Death said, with raw steel. "It has never mattered."

And then he sighed yet again.

For a moment, Liz felt like she was being drawn in – as if by the force of gravity – into the hollows of his mask. His eyes were like shimmering water at the bottom of deep wells. She didn't see his eyes, but she saw their light. She could feel the centuries of duty spread out over the vast planes of his memory, edging on nostalgia. She wondered what he was thinking about, or rather how many things he was thinking about in the brief reverie. She felt his wavelengths giving off the barest hints. For an instant, like the span of a blink, she knew what it was to touch the surface of a truly ancient soul. The soul of a dying reaper. He heaved a great sigh. Liz felt it pass through her like an air current, leaving her cold and empty.

"Checks and balances," Death said after a while. "If there ever was a reaper who dared to crave power and dominance over life—ah let's see, I'll be more direct: If a reaper ever strayed down the path of the Kishin…" Death halted again, obviously uncomfortable, and quickly added, "It's best we don't dwell on such possibilities, but _if_ he did, punishment would pour down on his head like hail and the world would be spared from a horror too great to comprehend. The Grim Reaper is really a servant to humankind, you see? A servant to Death, to Life, to Balance, to Order.

"Come now, I can't stand to see such sad faces. I know that everything I've said could be cause for sorrow, but Kid _will_ be fine. Trust me. Do not despair. The closest relative of insanity is despair."

"Um…sir?" Liz began hesitantly, searching for the courage she needed to proceed with her next words. She took a deep breath before taking the plunge. "Please sir, I want to ask you something very…personal. It's something I have to know."

The former Lord Death tilted his head minutely. His interest was reserved. His massive hands fidgeted conspicuously. "Oh?"

Liz stared hard at him, taking in the sight of his mask, and what lay beneath, more attentively than ever before.

"You can ask me anything, Liz," he said.

_Here goes._

"Have _you_ ever killed a human soul by mistake? Had to face the Tribunal in the past?"

Patty looked at Liz incredulously, mouth slightly ajar. Then she recovered quickly and joined her sister in looking at Death with equally matched curiosity.

"Maybe if-I don't know-I think that maybe Kid would at least feel a little better if he knew he wasn't alone in this! I don't want him to think of himself as being worthless." Liz flushed and looked down at her feet. "He thinks of you as perfect in all your ways, sir, whatever rebellious spirit may take him," she said in minuscule voice.

Death's tall silhouette bowed its head. The slope of his body reminded her of the defeat in Kid's shoulders before he sank to the ground in a fit. For a long time, he didn't answer. The familiar jovial and animated figure was long gone, so removed, in fact, that Liz wondered if happiness could have ever existed inside him. The reaper she had known for so long was merely a cloaked stranger hunched before her.

She reached her hand out to touch the surface of the mirror. Ripples emanated from her fingertips. "Sir?"

"I'm sorry, Liz." His voice sounded abrupt and much stronger than she would've expected. But then he drifted off into the barest whisper. "There are some memories buried too deep to recover."

Liz's heart crashed. In his advanced age, he'd lost all his energy and motivation for dodging tough questions. Suddenly, all at once, she understood the disturbance inside of old Death, the most enigmatic figure she'd ever know, like protective darkness made into a thin, pellucid veil.

He was in terrible pain.

"Take care of Kid. I'm afraid there is nothing I can do for him."

Terrible, terrible pain.

A blanket of silence fell over the three of them, and all of Death City, it seemed. Liz breathed quietly and observed with reverence the small pattern of ripples that disturbed the surface of the mirror, making the image waver. There was a slight connection breakup between them, but it seemed to Liz like a scattering of drops hitting a pond. To her heart's distress, it looked as if the old Reaper's reflection was weeping openly over the water's edge.

"Yes, sir," Patty said softy, dutifully. Liz echoed her. They both nodded.

Death acknowledged them with his own little nod and then spoke with new lightness in his voice. "I will call the others back in now. Azusa will want to talk to you, I'm sure. I believe she is very eager to work on the post-operations for this mission. Please indulge her for just a moment."

"Yes, sir."

Death straightened up to his full, regal height. He returned to his energetic demeanor. It was hard to say if this was a genuine rapid improvement of his mood or if he needed a quick disguise for his dark, unguarded state. "Oooookay then! Everyone, you can step back in now!" he said in a loud voice.

As Death glided off to the nearest returning staff member to inquire about an early teatime, Azusa Yumi approached the mirror. She was as punctual and as professional as ever in her favorite tailored suit. She was sporting a new, slightly shorter, fashionable haircut and held a portable computer device in her arm. She looked at them over her glasses with that unforgettable blue gaze.

"Good to see you, Azusa," Liz greeted, her voice much more upbeat than she felt. "Um, this won't take too long, will it?"

She gave them a friendly, yet serious look. "Just a mission account for my own records. I won't keep you too long. Tell me what happened."

Liz and Patty took turns describing the events of the mission as best as they could remember, filling in forgotten details for each other, certain that every scrap of information would be important.

After all that could be said was said, a small burden was lifted and Liz allowed herself to sigh. Azusa, however, looked like she was engaged in a strenuous mental chess match. "An egg in Reno, close to hatching. It must have been a master of concealment if it's been so close to us for so long without detection. To think it could escape my clairvoyance…I'll start work on adapting the DWMA Kishin-hunting procedure across all divisions. It sounds like Kid was right to use devastating force. We were on the verge of having a newly-born Kishin on our hands. Normally, a Kishin egg will devour many souls very quickly in order to hatch as soon as possible, making a big show of itself in the process. But this one must have devoured only a single soul and then lay in wait as its power slowly incubated. Very clever. It's a remarkably audacious move for it to reside so close to DWMA headquarters, the very home of the Grim Reaper. Hiding in plain sight, as it were."

"Is there anything else we need to do?" Patty asked, rather unwillingly

"I don't know what Our Elder Lord has told you, so I don't wish to contradict him, but my personal advice is to take the day off. You deserve it."

Liz and Patty smiled appreciatively.

Azusa adjusted her glasses. "Special DWMA agents will be ordered to conduct an investigation into the origins of the Reno Kishin Egg and to search the area surrounding the incident, so don't let the matter trouble you any further. If anything, your main concern is Our Young Lord. Everyone here trusts your experience as his partners, so we will follow your discretion in all his personal matters."

"Thank you," Liz said, honestly feeling quite relieved.

Patty hooked her arm around Liz 's and nodded rapidly. A proud light was gleaming in her eyes. "We'll be in charge of Kid."

* * *

The mansion felt calm and empty after the connection to the Death Room was terminated. Liz and Patty met eyes. No words were needed. Liz swiftly pulled her little sister into a tight hug. Patty's arms curled around her in return, gladly accepting the closeness, and patting Liz on the back as her head rested against her shoulder. Liz stood, slightly supported by Patty's weight, and listened. Whatever Kid was doing at present, he was being very quiet about it. He was probably still upstairs in his study and didn't want to be disturbed. She thought about the research he insisted on doing. What was it? The reaper laws governing the Tribunal? The grim history of souls trapped in Kishin bellies? Or something else altogether? She wished she knew if he'd found the knowledge he was looking for. She was sickeningly worried and just wanted him to finally rest. His presence was shrouded from her.

"I'm sooooo thirsty," Patty whined suddenly.

Liz was abruptly reminded of her own parched throat and the thought of a tall glass of water took precedence in her mind. The dry desert air had not been kind to her.

"Me too. Let's get something to drink."

Patty made little sandwiches of sliced ham and cheese in the kitchen. She cut them in halves, piled them onto a large, contemporary, white china dinner plate, and brought them to the coffee table in the sitting room. Liz set two large glass pitchers, one of ice water and one of refreshingly cold, sweet black tea next to the sandwiches and ran back for tall drinking glasses. They ate veraciously and drank the entire volume of their glasses in one long, quenching draught. For the time being, they distracted themselves from their many troubles with familiar comforts. At some point, Patty picked up the remote control and turned on the TV.

They were greeted by the last channel Kid had viewed before leaving for the mission, the DCTV local news station. After a transition from the weather forecast, a male broadcaster in a gray suit appeared on screen. Patty was just about to change the channel in search of a more entertaining mid-morning program before Liz stopped her. "Wait. Leave it for just a moment.

_This just in from the Death Room, a call from the Israeli Defense Minister concerning the young Lord Death's scheduled inspection of Death Military Industries has been met with the indecision of DR staff members. Reasons for the postponing of the tour of the Middle Eastern facilities are unclear, but the Defense Minister was said to have insisted to speak only directly to the young Lord. Accusations of flip flopping in foreign policies could be on the rise if-_

Liz felt sick. She tried to sip on her second glass of water, but slowly had to put the drink down. She massaged her temples and continued to listen.

_In other news, domestic responsibilities may be off to a shaky start as well. The new fall term at Death Weapon Meister Academy is scheduled to start next week. The young Lord Death has yet to make the preparations for his ceremonial swearing-in as the new headmaster at the school's iconic courtyard steps, where thousands of Death citizens are expected to attend the first-ever publically visible dynastic passing of the Death family torch. At this point, only speculation can be made as to why the young Lord has not taken his role as head of the school yet, but judging from his well-known track record of late appearances and—_

"Turn that off," Liz sputtered, feeling sicker and sicker with each second.

"I forgot about that," Patty said, with her straw resting absently on her bottom lip. She tapped the off button on the remote. "Kid's gunna be principal this year."

"This is bullshit. The very first day on the job and everyone automatically expects him to just turn into a well-oiled machine." Liz pinched the bridge of her nose. "It's giving me a killer headache. This is all too much. They know he's only nineteen, right?"

"Well, ya know, nobody knows how old Papa Death is, since he is so old that everyone forgot," Patty informed. "He doesn't have a birthday or else I'd know when to get him a present."

Liz took up her glass once more but did not drink from it. She just held it in a loose grip and looked down at the reflections in the gently swaying water. Of course, no one would know the personal tragedy that Kid had to endure because of today's mission, and it is best that no one should know of his grief, judging from the cautious way that Death spoke about it. The mission itself was probably being deemed an overall success by the DR public relations team this very moment, with some unforeseen blowback. Everyone was just doing their part to ensure that the gears of Death City kept turning. Liz sighed after finally taking a gulp of water. She and Patty had a unique and exclusive burden to bear.

"Do you think I could be headmaster instead?" Patty asked off-handedly.

Liz couldn't help but let an endeared chuckle escape her. "Oh, Patty, I can see it now. Yeah... you would be brilliant and Kid wouldn't have to worry about all that school business. You should be his VP or something."

Patty smiled gently; her eyes twinkled fondly at the idea. Then she looked seriously at Liz. "Do you think Kid is hungry? Or thirsty? I made plenty of sandwiches."

"And I brought a third cup," Liz said and reached for the glass she had placed in the center of the side table by the empty armchair that was Kid's favorite. "Here's what we'll do. We'll pour him a glass of water and leave the food out on the table. That way, it will be here for him whenever he feels like coming down. He probably just needs some time."

Patty nodded in enthusiastic agreement and started to pile the neatly cut sandwiches into a perfectly straight little pillar on the plate. She scooped up the bread crumbs that had offended the table top. Liz poured the water.

Worry was still burrowed deep in their hearts, but all was quiet and seemingly at ease in those few moments, so very slowly, Liz and Patty succumbed to the exhaustion of the nocturnal mission, desert flight, and difficult morning, and drifted to sleep on the couches. They held to a fragile hope that everything would turn out alright.

The mercy of peaceful slumber didn't last long.

* * *

A loud crash seared into Liz's dark sleep. The ceiling above rattled with the terrible impact.

"Kid!" Liz bolted upright and shouted, as if roused by a night terror. She was breathing rapidly and looking around, immediately alert. "Kid," she panted. "Oh, god, what are you doing?"

The shock happened so violently fast, Liz couldn't detect exactly where the crashing sound had come from. Only two thoughts were in her mind: _upstairs and Kid._

Patty pushed herself up onto one elbow and looked around rather bleary. "What was that? What happened?"

Liz got up and folded the throw blanket over Patty's exposed feet. She ran her fingers lightly through Patty's bangs so as not to alarm her. "I'm going to check on Kid. I'll be just a moment."

"M'kay," Patty murmured, obviously still in between lucid dreams. "Take care of him, Papa said." And like that, she was out again.

Liz raced up the stairs, feet pounding the steps heavily. She headed straight for his study at the end of the hall.

Books were piled on his desk, on podiums, and scattered all over the floor. Some were open-turned while others were shut and discarded. It looked like a tornado had hit.

"Kid." She called loudly, but there was no answer.

She proceeded to quickly trot down the hall to his room. The door was open, so she carefully stepped into the dark room. She began to question her own resolve as soon as she noticed the sound of the shower running in the master bath.

She flushed_. I can't freaking walk in on him while he's in the bathroom! In the shower!_

Still, she moved forward steadily. The bathroom door was open as well and the light was off. Waves of coldness sluggishly rolled out from the doorway. Fear sunk into her every rib. Everything seemed off.

No matter _where _he was, Kid needed her. Now.

She peeped inside. The room was dark. Just scarcely enough light to see by emanated from a dimmed, white light-plate on the shower ceiling. The echoing beat of water against the tile floor drowned out the sound of the exhaust fan and even her very thoughts.

She saw him at once, through the glass door of the shower and the dimness, a huddled figure sitting with his feet at the drain.

"Kid," she called out in a low voice. He didn't budge.

Liz reached around the door frame, gliding her hand across the inside wall, feeling for the switches. She stopped herself just as she was about to hit the main light. For fear of shocking Kid's system, she slowly and very carefully moved the slider to brighten the light plate. The shroud of darkness receded at bit until she could finally see the horror that was the bathroom floor. She couldn't help but whimper at the sight.

Kid had broken the mirror. The floor shone with an enormous amount of shattered glass. A large black scuff mark on the wall was left from where he must have thrown his shoes. His socks were rolled up among the broken glass, soaked red with blood.

Now painfully mindful of the glass that littered the floor, Liz anchored her grip on the door frame and reached for a pair of brown corduroy loafers from the wooden cubby full of Kid's many identical house shoes. She slipped them onto her bare feet. To her surprise, his men's fit was close to her own shoe size, so they were rather cozy.

The glass crunched beneath the rubber soles as she tread carefully inside. She saw the full extent of the destruction now. Shock waves of spider-web cracks spread over the mirror. Even the plaster wall behind the mirror was cracked; a fine fissure ran all the way to the ceiling. Trickling red blood filled the patterned cracks of what was left of the glass on the dented wall. She saw her own face as fragmented into a horrible visage with multiple eyes, multiple noses and a down-turned mouth parted, holding Kid's name silently on her lips. Her features were scattered, distorted, and afraid. She looked down and noticed that his skull neck pin and rings were deposited in the sink basin, like something disgusting spit out.

The large glass door of the shower was left ajar and some water had collected outside on the bathroom floor. His shower was a small room lined with perfect squares of slate gray tile. The skull motif fixtures were stainless steel polished to a high-shine. The dimmed, in-shower light-plate cast a pale, cold, artificial glow on the broken glass and dancing puddles of water on the slate floor.

She opened the door a little wider and stepped it.

The water was cold enough to make her knees lock up and her breath hitch. She dared not turn off the shower. The thought of canceling the steady sound of pelting water, of introducing silence to Kid's mind, was too cruel to bear. She also suspected that silence would sap all the bravery she had mustered. As before with the lights, she carefully turned the spokes of the shower valve until the water temperature was bearable.

Kid was hunched, curled into himself. His exterior was like a protective shell. Apart from his blazer and shoes and finery, he was fully dressed. His clothes were plastered to his body, soaked all the way through. He sat totally motionless and paid her no attention. She touched his shoulder-blade, first with the tips of her fingers, then with the full face of her palm. It was like touching a stone statue with no warmth in its back. He didn't flinch or even seem to notice.

"Hey, Kid," she tried again, to no avail.

Liz waited for the familiar tug of his soul, the little tug she felt whenever he needed her. She stretched out her soul to encompass him, but it curled around herself, reaching for thin air. It was like he wasn't there. Resonance was out of the question, it seemed. He was quietly breaking in front of her and there was nothing she could do.

Slowly, she eased herself down to sit next to him.

"Kid, what's wrong?" she asked, and was surprised when she heard her voice crack. "Don't shut down like this. Please, we can help you. _I_ can help you. I'm right _here._"

She settled in very close to him and put an arm around his shoulders. She pressed his sopping bangs back to expose his pale forehead. She watched water trail from the roots of his black hair down his smooth round forehead to pool momentarily on his tightly drawn brow before dripping off his face.

"Kid, let me in! I'm begging you, please… I want to help you. I-I don't care what kind of pain you're in, just let me feel it with you."

Was this what people with no skill in soul perception felt like?

Sometimes, she thought he was just a terrified boy burdened with a soul that was too vast and powerful to hold inside. She began to feel frustrated at her own powerlessness.

"I swear to God, Kid, I'll never forgive you if you're just going to sit here and suffer alone. I can't watch you go through this…"

He looked up slowly; water swam over his face and trickled off his chin. His lips tried to form a response, but no words came out.

"Please, Kid. Please let me...I need to help you. You're _killing _me here!"

Kid blinked.

Liz's hand shot to her mouth. A choking sob died in her throat. Burning hot tears of shame suddenly welled up in her eyes. She bit her lip. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Her soul called to him. He latched on feebly. Feeling the slight tug, the tears started to leak from her eyes. She felt awful for being able to cry when Kid was still numbed from pain.

"It's alright," he said at last. "Stay with me." He spoke so quietly, he was almost impossible to hear over the beat of the shower.

He leaned against her then. His forehead met her propped up knees. The dampness of his hair soaked through her already moist jeans. She felt his coldness crawl down her leg.

"Kid," she breathed.

"Cold…" he said.

"Want me to get you some towels?"

"Yes."

Right outside of the shower was a cabinet of nicely folded towels, organized according to their size on the shelves. Liz stroked her hand through his bangs once more before gently easing him away from her knees. She cradled the back of his neck as she let him lean back to be supported by the tile wall. She stood and squinting her eyes against the spray of the shower, leaned to turn the valve completely off. No sense in getting the towels wet. She turned and reached outside of the shower to open the cabinet and pulled out a large terrycloth bath towel. She shook it out of its orderly fold.

When she turned back with the towel, Kid had already peeled off his wet shirt. It was a soggy pile of fabric discarded by the drain. His hands rested limply at the latch of his belt. Thoroughly waterlogged black pants hung low on his hips, clung to his thighs. Water dripped steadily from the point of his nose as he stared absently forward.

She stood in place. She could only stare frozenly at the dewy surface of his ivory skin. His body was so perfectly clean and pale and innocent. The surface of his damp skin seemed newly made, without any marks that would reveal the harshness of his life; it was like that of a newborn. Diverted water ran around far-away eyes. A single bead traveled haplessly over his chest until it dipped into the centerline of his core and sped down his body. Suddenly, with a small whimper, he was shivering violently, uncontrollably.

He sucked in a sharp breath. The edge of his ribs were brought into low relief, his muscles and tendons tightened. His stomach clenched violently as if to strangle a building sob before it could burst. His eyes were wild.

His arms were shaking as he crossed them over his chest. His fingernails dug into the skin of his shoulders. It was as if, in the blink of an eye, he was slammed back into his body, like he had been startled awake and the sleeping cold inside of him was desperately forcing its way out. It didn't seem quite right to Liz. She couldn't recall a time she'd ever seen him shiver like this.

She lowered herself to her knees in front of him. She wrapped the bath towel, then her arms, around his shoulders and drew him close.

She listened closely, patiently, for the words his mouth was trying to form. "…Liz?" he asked in a feeble voice.

After a moment of strained silence, she brushed back the wet bangs that had fallen into his eyes. "Yeah?"

"Does Father hate me?"

"Oh Kid…." She hugged him tight. "No, of course not. He loves you tremendously. So does Patty. So do I."

Kid gulped hard.

"What is hurting you?" she asked.

He grabbed her wrist and held it steady. For a moment, she thought he would guide her hand over his heart, over some horrible unseen wound. A surge of reckless hope took hold of her at the feeling of the barest spark of resonance between them. But he just held her wrist in his hand and looked into her eyes with his weary gaze. His eyes, the color of gold coins, glistened in the misty light, fixing compellingly on hers.

"I can still feel her in my hand. It's burning a hole right through me."

"…Her?" asked Liz.

"Yes. I saw her face for an instant in the white flames. She wanted so badly to walk through that fire to reach me."

"Kid, I'm so—"

"Her blood is dripping through my fingers," he said before she could finish.

Liz looked at the place where he gripped her arm, the place where their bodies met. "Look at your hands," she said. "See how human they are? You don't need to be so brave." She loosened his grip and gently took his hand in hers, tracing light circles in the center of his palm. "Thousands of more souls will pass between this world and the next through your hands, and you bear that burden so bravely."

"I eradicated her."

"No, Kid... no you can't be so sure. Her soul would've faded inside the Kishin whether or not you intervened."

A sob wracked his body but he held back any sound. "…I watched," Kid whispered, confessing his most shameful sin, his eyes narrowing in pain of the memory. "I just watched and I listened...the screams…"

Liz held him tighter. "…I know. I know," she hushed him, wishing that her voice was all that he could hear.

She traced her nails faintly over the lines of his palm and interlocked her fingers with his. He responded, closing his fingers with hers with tender strength, a hungry hold. If she could not resonate with him, she could at least place her bared soul in the palm of his hand. She could reside in the depths of his being.

She would be his little soul, to console him for the one he had lost and would never find again.

He leaned into her. His damp chest soaked her skin through the fabric of her blouse. His breathing quickened against her collar as their hands stayed clasped together. "If you need to hold on to something, just hold me."

He did. He held onto her hand, squeezed it tight, desperately tight.

She rested her face atop his head and rubbed the towel over his back. Her lips were wet from pursing in the damp locks of his hair. She breathed in the fresh scent of his cold clean skin, of soap and the lingering coppery hint of blood.

"I can't resonate with you right now, Kid, but that's okay. That doesn't matter. I'm never going to let go of you."

He sniffed. More than water from his skin was dampening her collar bones.

"It's a horrible mess." Kid whispered. "I'm sorry. I made such a horrible mess."

"Don't worry, we'll clean it up together. The three of us, I promise."

Nearly all of his weight leaned against her and Liz held him tenderly in place. "Just rest with me first."


End file.
